


Trial

by ameonna (zetsubonna)



Series: Throw Down the Gauntlet [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Asthma, Bad Sex, Heart Palpatations, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pushy Bucky, Scoliosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/ameonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve refuses to let anything stop him from being himself, including physically being himself, which is always at least somewhat painful, occasionally incredibly humiliating, and ruins moments that should otherwise be blissful.<br/>He's glad Bucky doesn't treat him like he's broken, because if he did- Steve isn't sure what he would do.<br/>So if he could be a little less broken right now, please, God, that would be very helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial

_Please,_ Steve begged _. Dear God, please, don't do this to me. Not tonight. Please, not tonight. Not now, please. Not with Bucky, God, please. Why am I so fucking broken?_

* * *

There had been other nights he'd made the same prayer. The first, Bucky had crawled into Steve's bed when he got home and curled around him and started stroking his stomach and Steve had woken up and squirmed until they were slotted together like spoons.

Bucky hadn't been hard right off, either, and he smelled like he'd stopped in the bathroom down the hall and scrubbed up before he came in, which sometimes made Steve irritable. He wasn’t some girl Bucky needed to impress- he’d seen him drunk with puke in his hair more than once, a little work sweat and cigarette smoke wasn’t going to put him off his supper or a quick screw. He didn’t need to be courted, he wasn’t Bucky’s goddamn dame.

But since the lights had been off and he'd been asleep, he woke up thinking it was nice.

"Steve," Bucky sighed into his ear and nuzzled against the side of his neck, his breath warm on Steve’s night-chilled skin. "Baby. Sweetheart. I was thinking about you all day. S'okay?"

"S'all right," Steve murmured, rocking his hips backward, letting Bucky's cock move against his ass, with both of their shorts between them. "S'sweet."

"Want you, baby," Bucky sighed, tugging up Steve's shirt until he could get it off. His strong, warm hands slid over Steve's chest from behind, stroking him from collarbones to hips, and then the left came up to pet and caress Steve's nipple. He squeezed him after he moaned a little, his mouth warm and wet on Steve's shoulder. "Want you so bad."

"Sure you ain't drunk?" Steve teased, blushing and ducking away from the kisses, but Bucky chased him.

"Sober as a pastor," Bucky assured him. "Just in a mood. Can't I be in a mood, Stevie?"

"All right," Steve breathed, melting a little, slim shoulders going pliant and limp. "I guess. Just, mm, do that again. Oh yeah. Right- right there, Buck, that's good, I like that."

"I know what you like," Bucky purred, and Steve could feel the smile against his neck, all teeth and just barely interrupted by soft, plush lips. "I know just what you like, baby. Let me do it to you."

"Okay," Steve said, low and happy, pressing back into him.  Then Bucky's hand went a little lower than his hips, and he made a soft sound, and Steve rocked into his touch. Bucky stroked and petted and fondled and even squeezed the way Steve liked sometimes, but nothing happened.  Steve held his breath when Bucky made another sound, this one concerned, the kisses stopping, his hands and hips going still.

"Baby? Is this all right? We don't have to if you don't wanna, I can just-"

"It's good," Steve whispered, cringing, squeezing his eyes shut. "Damn it, Bucky, it's so good. It ain't you, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Bucky moved again, squeezing his waist with one hand and his limp cock with the other, burying his face in the side of Steve's neck. "Okay. Shh, it's okay. I ain't mad. I was just worried about you. It happens sometimes?"

"Yeah," Steve admitted, quiet, mortified, every inch of his slender frame gone stiff and locked up. "Yeah, sometimes. Just- it don't matter, though. I want it. You. I want you. Please don't quit on me."

"Shh," Bucky soothed, moving up, leaning over him, kissing the corner of his mouth, rubbing against him until some of the tension started to go out of his muscles, until he started to uncurl into him again. "Shh, baby. Ain't stopping. M'gonna do you, promise. Just, mm. Gonna need a little help making sure I make it good for you, since it ain't gonna be obvious."

Steve made a low noise of acquiescence, and it had been good. It had been really good. It had happened a couple more times, and those had been good, too. After the first time, Bucky hadn't even stopped to ask if he was okay, just carried on like nothing was wrong, and Steve had been completely relieved. Bucky was good to him. He was so good.

* * *

 So tonight wasn't a total surprise. So his dick was being uncooperative, again. That wasn't news. It was, about every other time. (It was closer to one in five times, but Steve got so frustrated that it felt like more.)

This, though. This shit wasn't even funny.

Steve was on his stomach. He liked it on his stomach, his back was comfortably bent, he had most of his weight on his knees, and Bucky could hit the spot better that way, could cover Steve up with his whole body and block out everything else in the world. Bucky was the universe when he was on top of Steve and pressed into his back, their fingers curled together on either side of Steve's head on the top of the bed. The pillows, his and Bucky's, were under his hips to prop him up so Bucky could just kneel between his thighs and have him, and even if his stupid fucking cock wasn't cooperating again, it didn't matter, it was okay, because Bucky's was just fine and it was hard and hot and in him and making him see stars.

What did matter, what wasn't okay, was the hitch building up in his chest. He was trying to fight it, he was trying to breathe deep and slow and keep going, he was trying, he was trying and praying and Bucky hadn't noticed yet, and maybe Steve could stop it before Bucky heard it, before he wheezed, but his heart was pounding and his eyes were starting to tear up and it hurt, it hurt so bad-

_Sweet Christ, why me? Why the Hell is this happening to me? God, can't I have anything? Can't I just- Can't I just-_

The noise that slipped from his mouth was a choking, harsh, rattling gasp, loud as a train in his ears, and then there was another, and another, he was drowning and all his muscles were seizing up and his vision was swimming and his heart was joining in the fuck-up and Steve couldn't talk himself down because he was angry, he was so angry because he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe because he was so angry, and he couldn't stop his hand from ripping free of Bucky's and clawing at his own chest. He couldn't even get fucked.

"Oh, Jesus!" Bucky hissed in his ear, immediately starting to scramble backwards to try and get off of him. "Jesus fuck, baby, oh God! Shit-"

Steve tried to respond but he was too busy gasping and he felt like the sheets were clinging to his face, smothering him. Bucky hauled him upright by the shoulders and it made his back snarl in pain but it got his own weight off his chest, and that helped a little.

"No, Stevie, no," Bucky panted in his ear. They'd been going at it so hard they were both covered in sweat, and Steve could feel Bucky trying to get his own breath under control so Steve could concentrate on mimicking it. "No, come on, no. Please, come on, calm down, I've got you, I'm right here, come on, breathe. Breathe, Steve. Nice and- nice and slow, come on."

He was still wheezing and wretched, tears streaming from his eyes, the scrapes on his chest so fiercely pink he could see them in the dark. His back continued to throb angrily at him for being ragdolled so badly, and that wasn't Bucky's fault, it wasn't, he couldn't let on because Bucky would blame himself. So he let Bucky keep moving him, didn't fight against being squeezed so awkwardly into Bucky's chest that he felt more suffocated than before. He tried holding his breath entirely until he could squirm himself situated, so Bucky's broad chest was dwarfing his narrow back and shoulders and his hand was over Steve's heart, the gentle, steady pressure pulsing with the breaths he wanted Steve to be able to take. Bucky would have traded places with him in a minute, and Steve knew it. That made it worse.

Bucky deserved so much better than him. Everything with Steve was pain and misery and bullshit.

He sank against Bucky and tried. He willed it as hard as he could, and when his head started to finally clear, he knew he was getting there, he was getting better. Bucky's face was buried in the side of his neck and Steve wouldn't acknowledge the damp that was coursing occasionally down his shoulder if he was put under hot irons. Bucky Barnes did not cry.

"M'okay," he croaked as soon as he could, long before he actually was. "M'fine, Buck. M'all right." He stroked the length of Bucky's forearm, nuzzled back at him, trying to be reassuring. "Shh, s'alright. M'okay."

"You fuckin' liar," Bucky growled, sniffing a little, subtly. "Don't talk. Sit the Hell still and breathe, you little dumbass."

Steve didn't fight him on it. He fell silent and didn't shift anymore, but for the gulps of air, now that he could get them into his chest.

Bucky clung to him for half an hour, until he was absolutely satisfied that Steve was all right, and then he kissed the back of his neck and sighed. "You ain't sleepin' tonight, are you?"

"Probably moving to the chair," Steve admitted. "I'll try, though."

"We can move to your bed," Bucky offered. "I'll sit up against the wall and you can lean on me. I'm more comfortable than the chair."

"You're also working the docks tomorrow," Steve reminded him. "Your back'll hurt worse than mine if you don't lay down."

"Does your back hurt?" Bucky started to recoil and Steve grunted and yanked his wrist to pull him back in. "You goddamn punk. I woulda moved, why didn't you say something?"

"It always hurts," Steve said dismissively. "Everything always hurts, it don't matter, I'm used to it. Don't worry so much."

Bucky bit his earlobe and growled, but he splayed his hand across Steve's flat, smooth stomach anyway. "Don't let me hurt you," he ordered, low and serious. "Don't you ever let me hurt you, I swear to God, Steven-"

"Oh, shut up, _James_." Steve would have blushed if his skin weren't already hot from his ordeal. "You ain't gonna break me with your dick, don't be stupid."

Snorting, Bucky used the hand not pressed against Steve to rub at something on his face that definitely wasn't tear tracks. "What set you off this time?"

"I don't damn well know." Steve's nuzzle had a distinctly irate undertone. "It wasn't you, you weren't putting any of your weight on my back, you never really do. We just washed the sheets and aired the whole place out Sunday."

"It wasn't nothing," Bucky insisted. "It's never nothing, you always get 'em for a reason. Cold, heat, mold, dust, damp, smoke, perfume, pollen, exercise-"

"You were the one doing all the moving," Steve pointed out, elbowing him, trying to lighten the mood.

"When's the last time we aired out the mattress?" Bucky's voice was low.

Steve winced. "...I don't remember."

"Son of a bitch." Bucky exhaled. "I'll take 'em upstairs and beat 'em out as soon as I get home tomorrow. My fault, ain't like you can lift 'em by yourself."

"It ain't your fault!" Steve gave a little shiver of rage.  "It ain't, don't you dare." He clamped both of his hands over his own face and grunted.

"What're you thinkin'?" Bucky murmured, kissing his neck again.

"Your dames don't give you this much trouble." Steve's voice was muffled in his hands. "What do you even bother with me for?"

"Go fuck yourself," Bucky yanked Steve into his chest. "Don't talk shit about my baby. I'll shake you until your teeth rattle."

"Damn it, Bucky," Steve sighed, giving up and melting against him. "The Hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't let anybody talk down Steve Rogers," Bucky said firmly. "Not even you."

Steve let his hands drift up and back, touching Bucky's hair, the back of his arm, his eyes closed. "We're done for tonight, though, ain't we?"

"Scared my dick so bad I think it's hiding under my liver," Bucky agreed, petting him. "I'll come back later. It's nice to have tail warm and waitin' at home. Supper, too."

"Oh go to Hell," Steve growled, blushing. "I ain't your wife."

"I like chasing skirts too much to have a wife," Bucky said smugly. "I got dames to dance with and a baby doll to do everything else, works out pretty good."

Steve rolled his eyes, starting to squirm out of Bucky's arms to go sit in his chair. "You're a jackass."

"Take a pillow," Bucky ordered, smacking him with one. "Bony ass on a wooden chair. You want your back to hurt worse?"

Steve brushed his lips against Bucky's temple and shoved him to try to make him lie down. "Go to sleep, Bucky."

"And a sheet," Bucky insisted, jerking his thumb at Steve's bed. "You get a chill, I'll wring your neck."

"Yes, Mrs. Barnes." Steve danced out of the way before Bucky could take another swat at him and peeled the sheet from his bed. "Anything else?"

"Gimme a proper goodnight kiss, you shithead," Bucky demanded. "What am I, six?"

Steve groaned, but he did it anyway, not the least bit surprised when Bucky held him still for an obscene amount of tongue, then ruffled his hair and bumped foreheads with him before settling down.

"Night, Stevie," Bucky sighed.

"Night, Mrs. Barnes," Steve returned when he'd settled in his chair, smirking when he dodged Bucky's balled up sock.

 

 


End file.
